


A Gently Haunted House

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-19
Updated: 2006-04-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8086324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: “Maybe it’s the colour of grief, your grief.” (Tag for 4.22 "These Are The Voyages…")





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: I promised myself I wouldnâ€™t write anything to follow up TATV. I break promises.  


* * *

**Night One: In Lieu of Flowers**

Midnight and Madeline knocked on the door to the bedroom. â€œI heard something happened.â€

Malcolm, as he stood at the window overlooking the ocean, turned his head and regarded his sister from the corners of his eyes. They found the bruise. â€œI wish you would leave him.â€

She touched it, gingerly, trying to hide it. â€œI love him.â€

â€œHow can you love someone who hurts you?â€

Forward and, â€œWhat happened, Malcolm?â€

â€œWhen I die, will you put flowers on my grave?â€

â€œWhat kind of question is that?â€

â€œTripâ€™s dead. They tossed him into space. No flowers. I want flowers, okay?â€

-

**Night Two: A River in Egypt**

They spent the day at the beach; all night, too. They sat in lawn chairs and the waves came up and twirled around them. They watched the sun race its chariot across the sky, painting brilliant colours in its wake, and then watched the moon wash them away with its pale palate.

â€œI hate the ocean,â€ Malcolm said at four a.m. Madeline pulled out a beer, handing it to him.

â€œI know. But, donâ€™t worryâ€”itâ€™s happy hour somewhere.â€

â€œBangkok,â€ Malcolm answered absently. Madeline ignored him.

They headed in at dawn. No one mentioned the bruise. No one mentioned Trip.

-

**Night Three: Life, Or Something Like It**

Her colourless eyes roomed the corners of the room: â€œI donâ€™t remember you buying this place.â€

â€œIt was a whim,â€ Malcolm said, watching as Madeline leaned against the doorjamb. They stared at each other for a moment before Madeline pulled herself away and went to the bed. She laid down on it. Both of them were in their clothes from the day. Malcolm could see Madelineâ€™s bruise, still vibrant.

â€œIf I leave,â€ she said slowly, â€œwill you move on?â€

â€œThatâ€™s a terrible thing to ask,â€ snapped Malcolm, staring at the ceiling. Madeline waited. â€œMaybe, okay?â€

They didnâ€™t go to sleep.

-

**Night Four: The Unnatural**

The night was unnaturally still, and there was a bitter wind blowing in from somewhere. They didnâ€™t speak as they lay on the bed. They just pretended: pretended that there werenâ€™t some things in the world that made them cry at night, that didnâ€™t hurt them, that didnâ€™t tear them to pieces; pretended with desperate ferocity that they were happy and whole and natural and, gee, isnâ€™t life just grand?

I donâ€™t miss him, thought Malcolm.

He doesnâ€™t hurt me, thought Madeline.

They pretended that they were okay, fine. After all, what else is there to be when youâ€™re not?

-

**Night Five: Parenthesis, Grief, Parenthesis**

Madeline didnâ€™t understand her brother, couldnâ€™t understand why he wasnâ€™t grieving for his lost friend or anything he ever did. Malcolm couldnâ€™t understand why she wouldnâ€™t leave him alone. It was, of course, a brother and sister thing. But that didnâ€™t mean anything.

Because Malcolm didnâ€™t know (understand) what this was either. Maybe this wasâ€”

(loss)

(anger)

(apology)

(love)

â€”denial. But then Malcolm remembered a look and maybe that wasâ€”

(I miss you)

(I hate you)

(Iâ€™m sorry)

(I love you)

Nothing. The look was nothing. This was nothing. And nothing was certainly not grief. Maybe Madeline could understand that.

-

**Night Six: Leaving**

Madeline leaned against the doorjamb, just like she always did. She folded her arms over her chest, just like she always did. And she stared at Malcolm with her colourless eyes, just like she always did.

â€œCan I help you?â€ he asked, not looking up from his book.

â€œIâ€™m leaving Paul.â€ Madeline sat on the edge of the bed.

â€œGood for you.â€ Malcolm turned a page.

â€œDoes this mean youâ€™ll get over Trip now?â€ she questioned. â€œWe did make a deal, you know.â€

â€œThereâ€™s a difference between dying and leaving, Maddy,â€ said Malcolm slowly.

â€œNot much that I can see.â€

-

**Night Seven: Weekâ€™s End (No Rest for the Weary)**

At midnight, the waves rolled in and out.

Malcolm, in his study, drew the schematics for a new weapon and ignored them.

Madeline, in the kitchen, put peanut butter on her apples; she heard the waves. She loaded the apples onto a tray and, quietly, took them into Malcolmâ€™s study, pausing at the door. Malcolm wasnâ€™t working; instead, he stared at a picture of Trip and him. They were happy. But Trip was dead now, and Malcolm looked tired.

She left, to come back a little later; she had to. Malcolm was working again.

The waves, as ever, were ignored.

-

**Night Eight: Chartreuse**

â€œYou know what is an odd colour?â€ Malcolm asked suddenly, eyes dark. â€œChartreuse. Honestly. Whatâ€™s with chartreuse? It has absolutely no purpose in the world; I mean, itâ€™s not found anywhere in nature. So why donâ€™t we just call it blue-green? Very odd. Mauve too.â€

â€œMaybe itâ€™s the colour of grief, your grief,â€ Madeline mused into the air, her face upturned and bright.

Malcolm rolled over, away from her, ignoring her. â€œChartreuse. Terribly messed up.â€

Madeline turned her had to him, eyes concerned. â€œMalcolmâ€¦â€

â€œItâ€™s fucked up.â€

â€œMally, pleaseâ€¦â€

â€œChartreuse is deeplyâ€”â€

â€œWould you pleaseâ€”â€

â€œâ€”fucked up.â€

-

**Night Nine: Hamlet Had Something Going For Him with That Suicide Thing**

â€œPlease talk to me,â€ begged Madeline over the pillow.

â€œWhatâ€™s there to talk about?â€ Malcolm asked.

â€œTrip died, Mally,â€ she snapped, her last thread of patience breaking. â€œHe died nearly two weeks ago, and why canâ€™t you get the hell over it?â€

â€œBecause this isnâ€™t something you just get over!â€ he exploded, eyes flashing.

â€œThen at least grieve,â€ she implored. â€œOr cry, or something. Just show some emotion.â€

â€œI want to die,â€ he choked out. â€œI want to die. Because Trip was my best friend andâ€”I canâ€™tâ€”â€

Madeline held her big brother in her arms as he cried.

-

**Night Ten: A Westerly Wind**

The white curtains billowed out, ghostly shapes in the dark filled room, and danced within and without the shadows and across the floor. The drapes cast delicate patterns on the bed. And, in the bed, they lay, back to back, feet pressed together, an arm each draped over and swelling into the small space between them, hands clasped gently. And even though Madelineâ€™s bruise was still showing violently and Malcolmâ€™s eyes were red and his cheeks stainedâ€”for the first time in days, they slept peacefully, with the wind whipping through the windows and leaving the smell of salt behind.


End file.
